Fortune Cookie Therapy Session
by Captain-Cheesecake
Summary: After dealing with the cabbie, John and Sherlock go out to diner and after getting to know each other, a friendship is formed between the two flatmates. NOT SLASH


**After John shoots the cabbie in the first episode, he and Sherlock go to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. This is simply what happened the rest of that night. **

**Not slash**

**Disclaimer; Sherlock is owned by the BBC, Moffat/Gatiss/Doyle, and not me. **

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"_'If you don't do it excellently, don't do it at all.'_"

John raised an eyebrow.  
"Okay, _HOW_ are you doing that?"

Sherlock smiled.  
He wasn't going to tell his new flatmate that each Chinese restaurant in this part of London ordered their fortune cookies from the same company, that company only having so many different fortune cookie sayings, or that he had memorized each saying. Besides, he could see most of the letters from the small opening on top of the cookie. It wasn't that hard to put together.

John put the paper down and nibbled on the cookie as they waited for their food to arrive.

"So...you have a brother."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"And your brother is a sister."

John laughed.  
"Um...yes. Harriet."

"And Mycroft."

John's food had arrived. He sat back and ate as Sherlock watched.

"We need to get them on a sitcom. _'Mycroft and Harriet'_."

Sherlock smiled.  
"That sounds...plausible. I would enjoy that."

John nearly choke on his food with laughter.

"Alright. Now, if you don't mind me asking, what kind of names are Sherlock and Mycroft? Because I'm not sure if your mother was a genius or wanted her children to suffer through childhood."

Sherlock scoffed.  
"We never really figured that one out either."

John laughed and took another bite of his (duck-less) sweet 'n' sour duck noodles.

"How long have you been a vegetarian?" Sherlock asked, suddenly interested.

John wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.  
"How did you-"

Sherlock smiled.  
"I hardly had the need to analyze. It's actually quite obvious. I was just interested in how long you've lived this lifestyle. You seem rather used to it, so I would say a while."

John swallowed and cleared his throat.  
"For a long while, actually. On and off at first. But then after a while...when I went to Afghanistan..."  
John frowned and glanced at his left shoulder and right leg before going back to his food.

Sherlock licked his lips.  
"Ahhh. I see...So it's still hard for you to speak of your army days."

John's eyes narrowed.  
"No. Just...not as easy as I'd like."

Sherlock cleared his throat.  
"Forgive me. I did not mean to pry."

John shook his head.  
"Oh, gosh-No! I didn't think you were-I never thought of it like that."

Sherlock swallowed and picked up a cookie from the bowl at the middle of the table. He cracked it opened and smiled at the paper it revealed. He remembered this one. He shoved the fortune in his pocket and bit the end off of the sweet biscuit.

John swallowed another bite of noodles.  
"I mean...I never thought I would miss something that much...but when they told me I was going home, I just...I broke down."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"You truly miss the war?"

John shook his head.  
"No. No, no. Not like that. Y'see, you lot only see it from the Telly, the dying people, the starving children. You pray for the soldiers of war and send money to protect the children. But out there on the battle field...it's a completely different story. I was out there everyday. I had to see those dying men, those crying children. I tried to heal them. But I got careless and I got shot. But imagine going from actually protecting those people to being forced to sit back and watch. Watch as your friends and fellow soldiers die in battle because you weren't there to heal them. Watch those children starve when you could have been there for them..."

John didn't realize that he had Sherlock's full attention until he looked up from staring at his suddenly aching leg from under the table.  
Sherlock was leaning forward, elbows on the table, hands folded neatly in front of his face, fingers resting over his lips as if he were praying. His eyebrow was glued into the air, his head cocked sideways just slightly.

John continued.  
"And I'm not saying that prayer, money and support isn't enough and that those who give should be in the battle field. No. I'm saying that as a doctor, staying at home wasn't enough for _ME_."

Sherlock nodded and said the only words John has wanted to hear since he stepped off of that return plane from Afghanistan to London;

"I understand."

_How? How was dinner with this stranger better than all of his therapy sessions?_

John swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.  
"I'm sorry. I'm boring, I know. I didn't mean to ramble. It's late-I"

Sherlock smiled.  
"No. I actually have no problem with this. I supposed as flatmates we would need to learn about one another."

John smiled back.  
"I suppose we do."

John went back to his food and Sherlock cracked open another cookie, throwing the paper aside on the table.

"So how did this start, then? The detective stuff?" John asked, twirling his noodles about with his fork.

Sherlock cleared his throat.  
"One of my classmates, an acquaintance of my brother, came to our house one evening. His father came as well. I simply observed him and told him what he did that morning in full detail. It was not the first time I had done this. His father then advised me to go into the investigation business."

John nodded.  
"Wow. It is pretty amazing. What you do."

Sherlock smiled.  
"I've been working with Lestrade for nearly five years. We...didn't get along very well in the beginning..."

John raised an eyebrow.  
"Why do I have a feeling that's an understatement?"

Sherlock sighed.  
"Yes. It is. He...arrested me. When I was twenty-nine. For tampering with evidence. I had heard there had been a murder down the street of my old flat and kindly offered my help. He thought I was high and hallucinating and making things up. I tried proving my point and he arrested me."

John raised an eyebrow.  
"How did you get out of that one?"

Sherlock pursed his lips slightly  
"When Mycroft heard of my..._imprisonment_...he bailed me out. Naturally, I was adamant to leave without proving my point to the officer who arrested me. So I did. I solved the case...And then landed myself in jail for a second time in twenty-four hours."

John chuckled.  
"That's...I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh..."

Sherlock shook his head.  
"No. It's...fine."

Sherlock leaned forward and finished his story.  
"Well, Lestrade realized I was not your average 'amateur'. He called me the next week to ask for my advice on a case. We've worked together ever since."

"So...nights like tonight are normal for you. Pill popping and foot chases." John guessed, eyes drifting back under the table.

Sherlock smiled.  
"More or less."

John sighed and scratched his ear.

Sherlock cleared his throat, resting his hands against his lips again.

"Um...What you did earlier...Dealing with the cabby..."

John looked up.  
"Yeah...Um...It was nothing."

John pushed his empty plate aside and checked his watch. _Blimey!_ It was nearly two in the morning!

"They close soon. We need to get going."

John stood to his feet and Sherlock pulled out his wallet and left a twenty pound bill at the table.

The rain had picked up from the time they had entered the restaurant. Sherlock pulled his collar up and turned back to John.

"I don't want a cab. Not tonight at least." John swallowed, eyes looking out to the empty road.

Sherlock nodded.  
"I understand your aversion. We are not very far from the flat."

They proceeded to run from the rain down the block to Baker street where Sherlock then unlocked the door and let them both inside and up the stairs.

John laughed, taking off his soaked jacket.

"What is it? What's so funny?" Sherlock asked as he hung up his sopping wet coat to dry.

John shook his head and took off his shoes.

"Nothing. It's just...after coming home again I never imagined I would still be doing this."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"What? Shooting people?"

John shook his head.  
"No. Staying up all night, pumped with adrenaline."

Sherlock scoffed out a laugh.  
"Yes. Well...You look like you need some rest."

John sighed and plopped down in a chair.  
"Not really..."

Sherlock smiled and plopped down in the chair opposite to him, legs crossed Tailor-fashion beneath him, warming his hands by the fireplace.

"You kept a fortune paper." John slurred tiredly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"I didn't think you would notice." he pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket.

John yawned greatly.  
"What does it say?" he mumbled.

Sherlock smiled.  
"_'Excellence is not a skill. It is an attitude.'_"

He looked up to find that the army doctor was snoring into his palm, his hand supporting his head as he slept.  
Sherlock threw the fortune paper in the fire and went to his room, grabbing his violin on his way. Shutting his door to muffle the sound a bit, he put the instrument up to his chin and composed a quiet, soothing melody.

The paper burning in the fire crackled as the words burned off the page, revealing what the fortune truly said;

'_Friends are people who do not judge you when you act crazy. Best Friends are brothers who will join in on the insanity._'

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**Reviews are welcome and highly appreciated!**

**If interested, check out my other fic, "Through The Eyes Of The Blind."  
**


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